Homecoming edited
itsmeocean@hotmail.com
Chapter 17.1
Elle felt a little limbless, or rather, a little incomplete, and the culprit for her sense of lack was Joe Hardy. In his haste to rush to the airport, Joe had simply grabbed her cell phone which was the same model and color as hers without looking. His cell was in the girls' room, on the dressing table and while listening to Frank update on the new progress in the case, she had placed hers on the guys' dressing table. A most unfortunate mixed up and she guessed Joe hadn't realized it since her phone was not switched on. And there was no way he could activate it for she had barred unauthorized use with a password needed for both activation and SIM card change.
"I'm sure they will call back once Joe saw that he has your phone." Callie reassured her smilingly, hearing her grumbling lowly to herself while staring at his cell. She wondered what she would do without her list of contacts. Half her brains were in the phone- cell phones caused her to be numerically challenged for she stored all her numbers inside. Without it, she was friendless, not that she had many friends but that was beside the point. Shoving his phone into her pocket, cursing the day she and Joe decided to go for the "Two-For-The-Price-Of-One" mobile phone deal, she jerked her head at Callie who was punching in Dr. Masters' home number onto the keypad in her cell phone.
"Still can't get him?"
"Nope… paged for him though using Joe's phone and left a pager's alpha message saying it's urgent he call back. I'm missing the guys. But there are only two more seats on the plane and it's not wise for all four of us to go chasing one lead." Callie sighed as she selected the function for the phone to redial the number if the line's not connected. Elle looked away from the cell phone's screen and darted her eyes about, pondering, given her current state of crush on Frank Hardy, if she was an underhanded person if she asked about the man who looked like he had just stepped out of a GQ magazine.
She decided then that she would be a lowlife if she asked about Frank because there was no way she could have done it without any ulterior motive. But Callie had nothing to fear. Elle had enough of men who belonged to someone else.
"Have you met Hallie before? I wonder how she is… the poor little dear. She's really smart and resembles her father so much. You'll like her if you haven't met her before- you'll love her." Callie patted her hand comfortingly. "I can see you're deeply worried for her too."
Elle finally understood what Callie had assumed and laughed lightly, nervously even. "No… I'm not Joe's girlfriend. Just his partner… and good friend. I'm worried for his daughter and for him- anybody will."
Callie raised her brows, a little skeptical. She wrinkled her nose, deep in thoughts.
"Yes?"
"Nothing… I'm sorry… I did think so… it's just the way he looks at you…. Hmm… I shouldn't jump to conclusion. Frank thought so too but didn't dare ask. Now we know." Callie smiled, embarrassed. Right then, Elle's heart palpitated a little quickly in anxiety- questions of childish "what-ifs" plagued her train of thoughts.
If he thinks I'm Joe's girlfriend… he will have subconsciously ceased to see me as a person of interest from the opposite sex… which means… I have no chance… which means I must clear this…
Wait. I have no chance. He adores his fiancée and his fiancée is sitting right next to me! What am I thinking? Bad Elle! Naughty Elle!
And how does Joe look at me? I know he can't keep his eyes off my hair sometimes… but that's him… wandering eyes admiring anything in skirts besides males and animals.
"Joe and I dated casually for a while- while we were together, he was together with two other girls and I was kinda seeing another guy too. No commitment, nothing. Just pure fun."
"You two could have fooled us all. His eyes just brighten when he looks at you… really. I'm not kidding you. I have a gut feeling about this sort of things." Callie wrinkled her nose again. "Hmm… I ramble on too much… huh?"
Elle shook her head in the negative. "It's ok. Just… keep it between the both of us. As far as I know, he's still carrying the torch for his ex-wife."
"Ness?"
"Yes…" Elle guessed she wasn't as immune to womanly gossip as she liked to think she was and a little company was not too bad actually. Callie seemed genuine- not an airhead or some snooty blonde who thought she was so pretty and sweet. Leaning over, she whispered in Callie's ear as if she had something very important and secretive to share. "He keeps a picture of her in his wallet. Besides me, all the other girls he dated have some resemblance to her as well. Grey eyes, ash blonde hair, tall, sophisticated… and then he runs."
"Runs?" Callie asked in the same hushed tone, very curious now. "As in just vanished?"
"Oh, no. He's responsible enough to tell them that he can't commit. And then he prowled the street for the next substitute. He's really just looking for her." Elle bit her lips, knowing she had spoken too much. Wrinkling her nose the same way Callie did, she tucked a lock of hair behind her right ear and narrowed her eyes in discomfiture.
"I think I said too much…"
"Yup… we both did. It's between us." Callie vowed, grinning as she looked up with an innocent expression on her face. "There! All forgotten!"
Elle chuckled lowly and was about to thank her when suddenly, the bed vibrated. No, it wasn't the bed; it was Callie's cell phone which vibrated on the bed. Masters had finally picked up the call. Callie snatched the phone in haste. She put the phone on loud speaker mode so Elle could participate as well.
"Hello Dr. Masters?"
"What do you want? I keep getting your number on my Caller ID and I don't know who you are but I will report you to the police if you dare try anything funny." The tenor voice sounded brave but Elle spotted the slight tremor. Raising her voice so the inbuilt microphone could pick it up, Elle decided that truth was in order here.
"Dr. Masters. I'm Elle Kang, a private investigator, and next to me is Callie Shaw, also another private investigator…" She smiled briefly at Callie who beamed at that introduction which placed her as an equal. "A daughter of our friend is kidnapped and, possibly, her disappearance has something to do with the threatening letters that you got…"
"How? I don't see the connection. And I am not receiving those letters anymore…" The man spoke cautiously, his composure giving way to suspicions. "I have reported that to the police so…"
"Wait… Dr. Masters. I know how you feel…" Callie hurriedly spoke up before he hung up. "We can understand the turmoil you face, living in constant fear. And if we have the time, we'll have gone over and begged you personally for assistance. You see, my friend and his ex-wife visited your ex-clinic in Porter's Bay before for an abortion but they decided not to go through with it at the very last minute. Somehow, someone knew about their original intention and while we can't be a hundred percent sure that the letters are linked, we can't dismiss the probability because it's too much of a coincidence. Please… help us out here… you'll be saving a girl's life…" Callie pleaded. Elle shot a look at her to see if she was pretending to be distressed as Joe had mentioned that Callie was a first-class actress but the two tiny rivulets down her cheeks could not have been faked. Perhaps the man heard the desperation that surfaced once again with the recounting- perhaps he heard the truth. Whatever softened his heart, Elle might never be able to explain.
Perhaps it has something to do with being human and doing what you know, in your conscience, is the right thing to do.
"I see… a girl… how old is she?"
"Her name's Hallie. She's six years old… going on seven. She's adorable with golden hair and eyes the color of cornflowers…" Elle described Hallie as best as she could from the photographs she had seen; knowing the moment the man had a mental image of how Hallie might look like, it would make it harder for him to refuse giving information. "She's lovely and she's not with us. She's in danger. She's Hallie, our sunshine."
"Hallie…" The man repeated her name softly, in deep contemplation.
"Her mom's Vanessa and her dad's Joe. Right now, they are both freaking out and having nightmares that Hallie's lost to them forever. Her father almost lost his mind… please…" Callie caught on what Elle was trying to do- humanize everyone and everything. Appeal to the man's innate sense of compassion.
"I…"
"You can call the Bayport's Police Department. Their number's listed. Speak to Chief Collig or Con Riley. You'll know we're speaking the truth." Elle tried to reassure him with some means of validation.
"No, I don't need that." Now, the man sounded surer; kinder. "There's a… a terrible story in which I'm a huge part of during a harsh winter 28 years ago in that clinic… and those letters I've got haunt me once again with those terrible memories. I haven't told anyone because I was so guilty… the police didn't really exactly believe me either. I think… I think you'll believe me… right?"
"We will." Callie assured him, sniffing a little in order to breathe. "We're listening."
As Dr. Masters told his story in halting speech, Callie and Elle's hands grew colder, almost as if they were little schoolgirls listening to a storyteller reiterating some Halloween tale to scare the kids. Elle took Callie's hand and they drew strength from each other's company- knowing, with their women's intuition, that the same guy who wrote those hate mails to the doctor was the same guy who took Hallie. Hallie was symbolic to him- Hallie escaped the fate.
An odd friendship too blossomed between the two girls- a friendship that would never lead them to become best friends but still, good friends who had shared an experience they would never forget.
After Callie thanked the doctor, she called Frank immediately. Elle was still a little stunned by the story that seemed to be crafted out of some horror movie's script rather than real life experiences. She saw Callie frowning into the receiver after a harried greeting. There was a pause and Callie sucked in a deep breath before robotically summarizing the story and disconnected without those sweet lovers' goodbyes.
"Voicemail?"
Callie smiled wryly. "Yah. Frank hardly forgets his spare battery. Guess the boys aren't contacta…"
An uplifting tune rang and it always reminded Elle of hamsters when it vexed her sense of hearing. She drew Joe's phone out of her pocket and furrowed her brows at the anonymous caller- the number was unlisted.
"Joe's call." Callie gushed breathily, stating the obvious, fearful.
"But he's not here." Elle commented softly, pressing the call receive button.
A digitalized voice greeted her in the guise of a kind, old granny's speech. "Hello… Joe…"
Elle was a little taken aback when the voice merged into that of an evil witch, cackling away gleefully.
"He's not here."
The caller was stunned for a moment, judging from the silence that ensued. When conversation resumed, the monster had taken on the guttural growl of Cerberus- or how Elle imagined the three-headed guard dog of Hades would sound like. "Not here? Get him here!"
"I don't know where he is. I can always leave a message." She sounded so casual that she shocked even herself- in actuality, she was a little more than unnerved.
"Leave a message? Who are you then? Don't lie… for I'll know." He was a petulant child now. This man loved his toy. "I always know!"
"I'm Elle, his partner."
"Ah. Long raven hair. Pretty, pretty…" Now he was the witch again. The voice switching was giving her a headache. "I'll make an exception this time. You do what I say and you may be able to save Hallie. Tell Joe to meet me alone in Warehouse 18, down by WaterCooper's Street in Porter's Bay in an hour or Hallie's dead."
"I can't get him…I don't know where he is. And I don't think he can be there in an hour…" Elle tried to reason. "I'll go in his place. How about that? I can be there in…"
The phone disconnected abruptly. Elle hurriedly told Callie to call the airlines and they found out that the next flight to Bayport would leave in two hours time- they reserved two seats, just in case.
As Elle was about to call Fenton to tell him of this new progress in their case, Joe's phone rang again.
"Hello?"
"I decided. For the fun of it, you can go in his place. An hour's time."
"No, I can only be there in six hours at best…"
"Are you trying to play games with me? You're in no position to negotiate! You have nothing I want!" The man sounded like a spoiled princess. "What am I going to do for six hours before you come? Twiddle my thumbs? My mother will be most displeased!"
"Please… ok… what if someone else…"
"NO! NO SOMEONE ELSE! NO POLICE, NO SHIT! YOU! ONLY YOU OR HALLIE'S DEAD!"
"Ok… ok… only me…" Elle calmed the man down while her mind raced for ideas to outwit him.
"Six hours. That means… tsk… nine-thirty tonight. If I don't see you; if I see signs of police activities… and believe me… I'll know… Hallie dies."
"Will you return Hallie if I go?" Elle asked, not letting her fear slip through her voice to give the nutcase even the slightest bit of pleasure.
"You're in no position to negotiate. I'm in a flippant mood today… a good mood. You'll have to…" The voice now plunged into an echoing baritone, "trust my good faith."
The call was cut again. Elle turned to Callie, her eyes flashing with urgency. "We have to leave now for the airport. I'll call Fenton on the way. Hurry!"
***
Donald Summers' house was in a small suburb in Philadelphia. Frank knew the professor was anything but what his sunshine name suggested and was a little surprised that the shoes would belong to one of the most renowned criminologist in the States.
Almost everybody who was related to the study of criminology would know Donald Mitchell Summers. He penned some of the most sought after textbooks and his researches were akin to Picasso' contribution in the movement of Cubism. The Feds had often sought his help with unsolved crimes, especially the FBI's Department of Behavioral Science. However, Frank found it almost hilarious a cranky, reclusive professor in his sixties with a slouching frame could masquerade as Joe and pull off a stunt like kidnap.
But he couldn't laugh at the mental imagery. Sometimes, Murphy's Law could hold true with amazing accuracy at the most ridiculous of all situations.
"Do you think Donald Summers came out with those amazing criminal psychology mumbo jumbo because he could think like one?" Joe asked huskily as he stared out of the window. Frank glanced at Joe quickly, still worried for his brother seemed to be coming down with a sore throat as well.
"Recalling the conversation we had earlier in LA? Maybe but I'm having a tough time reconciling a once tall, shriveled, sour faced man suddenly acquiring your macho physique." Frank tried to lift his brother's lips up with humor but it failed miserably. Joe bit his lips together and kept quiet as his eyes closed.
"I'm so tired, Frank. I want it to be him… I don't know. Just to end this thing quickly. Are you sure he's that old?"
"I saw him around in the Center before while I was visiting Uncle Robert."
"And how do we question the professor? He can simply claim that his shoes were stolen."
"He can but we can always check out whatever he says. Don't worry, Joe. We have done this before- they will break if they're guilty." Frank assured his brother with the comforting lie that most crime busters liked to tell themselves. However, criminals were getting smarter, more slippery and amoral. Crime rates were going up and there were criminals who do not break under the stress of interrogation, especially those who commit their crimes for a perverted cause they strongly believed in.
"Well, we're here. Nice place. You can bomb this whole place up and no one will hear." Joe glanced at the dour, one storey house that had grayed with neglect. It was almost concealed by the grass growing tall in the front yard.
Frank noticed that the house did not have a garage or a driveway. There wasn't even a cart around, much less a Toyota. They pulled up beside the curb and as they walked towards the house across the untidy lawn, he noticed that the soil was baked dry under the heat of summer.
Well, if he drove all the way to Bayport, any muddy soil would have dried as well.
"I wonder if the girls managed to get Dr. Masters on the phone..." Joe remarked suddenly, causing Frank to jump a little being abruptly interrupted in his thoughts. "Is it safe to leave them all alone in LA?"
"Relax, Joe. No one besides dad, mom and the cops knows we're in LA."
"I know… but they're… oh well. It's better to split up anyway. If they have a lead, they'll call us and could follow it up faster than us. We must be real lucky to get the last two seats on the earliest flight here." Joe knocked on the front door impatiently. "I don't think anyone's in."
"There isn't anywhere he would go to. His colleagues said he either stay at home or coop himself up in his office or the library doing research. He's not in the office, not in the University library, so he must be at home. Maybe he's just slow."
"Frank, look inside and look around. This place is neglected…" Joe sniffed the air coming from the small gap between the door and the wall like a bloodhound. "And it smells funny…like… dead rats… oh my God…" Joe wrestled with the knob urgently as Frank caught the implication of his observation and raced back to the rented car to fetch the lock picks. When he returned, Joe stepped aside and allowed him to operate on the lock. Moments later, when the door swung open, the two brothers were assaulted by a rush of putrid air heavy with the smell of decomposition.
Immediately, both of them covered their nose with cupped palms. One-handed signaling was the only form of viable communication in the toxic dump. The house was a small one-bedroom affair but, except for the smell, the room was neat- hardly lived in.
Frank stepped out into the sparsely furnished living space which was divided into a small kitchen area and a reading hall. The smell came on stronger, beyond tolerable levels even, as he approached the wooden, dining table. On a hunch, he bent down and peered underneath the table, noting the interesting contraption on the floor. Gesturing for Joe to help him, the both of them pushed the table aside to reveal a trapdoor with the bolt broken.
He noticed that Joe had stopped breathing and was unbuttoning his shirt. The odious stench was taking its toil on Joe as his complexion blended into a ghastly green pallor and he gagged intermittently. Frank's own stomach was churning and he knew, without even physical evidence, beyond any doubt, there was a dead body lying somewhere in the house for ages.
Following his brother, he wrapped his own shirt around his nose as a filter, though a hopeless one, and then knelt down to lift the trapdoor, revealing the black hole leading to the most dreadful stink he had ever encountered. Dismissing all sense of self-assumed "machismo", his brother spun around quickly, rushing for the kitchen sink as he pulled down his shirt from his face. As Joe retched violently, Frank wished for some Vapor Rub right then.
Walking hurriedly to his sick brother's side, Frank soothed his brother's back as the unwell blond vomited out all the meals he had taken for the last few years. To Frank, the smell of vomit was considered fragrant compared to the stench of a million dead rats. Joe raised a hand up indicating that he was all right as he turned on the tap with the other to wash the fetid mess down the sink and rinsed his mouth.
Moving towards the trapdoor again, forgoing the useless shirt, Joe started climbing down bravely with Frank in toll. The moment their feet touched the ground of the darkened space, Frank sensed an overpowering aura of cruel death. With what little light that streamed in from the opened trap door, he noted a dangling string-like mechanism from the ceiling and pulled on it. A dull, orange light from an overhead lamp ameliorated the weak illumination of a ghastly nightmare.
Much too ill from the weather, stress and daunted spirit, Joe supported himself with one arm on Frank's shoulder as he turned around and heaved some more. Frank stood transfix at the sacrifice before him. Even the smell could not distract him from the horrible sight.
A disemboweled and naked body, decayed beyond recognition, was slumped on the ground with its desiccated entrails neatly spread out beside it. Maggots attacked the gouged cavity in the abdomen, the eyes, the hands, the exposed guts… all over, eating it up, making it part of the food chain. Flies buzzed around, settling down to lay more eggs. To the soulless pests, their feasting on this body was but a natural process of the order of the world- they were fulfilling their purpose to help breakdown what had already expired.
When Frank looked down at his feet, he realized he and Joe were standing on crusted blood.
Blood. It was everywhere, dried to a copper-brown shade.
And somewhere back in time, this rotten mess of decomposed flesh was at the very top of the food chain- one of the most important hierarchies the world lived by.
Most importantly, this man held the key which was, once again, lost to them.
